That Kind of Guy: Ravenswood Book 3

by Talia Hibbert

  “Right. So.” She rubbed her clammy palms against her jeans. The words felt thick and sticky in her mouth, her body’s last attempt at preventing this cardinal sin. You’re being disloyal. Keep it in the family. Don’t tell anyone, or they’ll think badly of her.

  Usually, she couldn’t bear that idea. But she remembered telling Zach about Billie, and the way he’d said instantly, Do we hate her? That we had rearranged something fundamental inside Rae. She could accept Zach’s righteous indignation on her behalf in a way she couldn’t bear anyone else’s.

  “I don’t hate my mum,” she said, just to be clear. “But she’s not easy to get along with. Most days, being around her makes me feel like shit, but I can never explain why. When I try—when I ask her to stop what she’s doing—I get all tongue-tied and confused, and she has an excuse for everything. Then she gets upset, and somehow, I’m the one hurting her, and by the time the conversation’s over, I just, I feel like I’m going nuts.”

  Zach’s expression was tight. “I see.”

  “I don’t want you to say anything,” she blurted. “I mean, I don’t want to bitch about her. I do love her. She does love me. She’s my mother.”

  Something about him seemed to soften, ice turning to cool water. “I know, sweetheart.”

  “I just… Ugh. I don’t know why I’m moaning about this when I haven’t done anything to change it. Sorry. This is pointless.”

  “It’s not,” he said firmly. “You want to talk, you talk. Changing her is not your responsibility.”

  Rae nodded and heaved out a huge breath, like she’d been underwater. She knew, logically, that he was right—and that knowledge surprised her. Usually, when she tried to talk about her mother, she ended up feeling worse. She’d told a few friends years ago, but she’d barely been able to explain. By the time she’d finished, it all sounded like harmless mother-daughter arguments.

  Even now, she wanted to give Zach examples—to tell him about the times she’d been reduced to tears as a kid, a teenager, fuck it, a grown woman—but she heard Marilyn’s voice telling her not to be petty and to stop bringing up the past. That voice was vicious and wrong. Rae still listened.

  Zach swept his thumb over the inside of her wrist, commanding her attention again. “You don’t have to tell me everything all at once. Just know, if you ever feel like talking, I’ll always be here.”

  She nodded. Her smile was as tremulous as the hope in her chest. “Right. Thank you.” Then, trying to lighten the mood, she said, “You have to tell me a secret, now. To make it even.”

  He didn’t respond with the easy teasing she’d hoped for. Instead, he said quietly, “Sure. I’ll tell you a secret. I’ll tell you about my dad.” His fingertips followed the faint turquoise veins of her wrist, his eyes distant. “When I was a kid, he ran off with some woman. Just vanished. I still loved him, but I felt so guilty about it, because he’d fucked us over. All of a sudden, we were poor, Ma had to work all the time, and everyone treated her like dirt. I’d fantasise about him coming home, but somehow, I always knew he wouldn’t.” There was a pause before he added softly, “I missed him anyway.”

  If Rae was a lifelong Ravenswood resident, she might’ve known the bare facts of this story already. But she’d had no idea—and even if she had, she wouldn’t have understood until she saw the look on Zach’s face right now. She nodded slowly, put her free hand on his shoulder, and squeezed.

  He looked up in a flash of grateful blue. “We figured it out, in the end. My mother is a superhero. We didn’t need him. But then Nate fucked off.” Zach added that without bite, more exasperated than upset. “Not that I minded—he had his own life to live and his own issues to deal with—but it was… hard. You know he never came back until Mum got sick?”

  No, Rae hadn’t. “Really?”

  “Yeah. He had great timing, because all my friends disappeared on me at that point. Except Evan. He calls it the cancer effect. No-one wants to stick around.”

  “Wow.” She bit her lip. “I’m starting to see a trend in your life. The universe throws awful shit your way and you just… deal with it.”

  Zach huffed out a laugh. “Seriously? That’s the trend you see?”

  “What do you see?”

  He frowned, thoughtful for a moment. “I don’t know. I guess… everyone leaving me behind.”

  Her heart fell. “Zach.”

  “Hey, now. Don’t look so serious. Fuck ‘em, right?” She could tell he regretted saying something so heavy. In fact, it occurred to her that he was never heavy. Usually, everything was easy with Zach. Now she wondered just how hard he worked to avoid ever being difficult.

  She caught his hand in both of hers, staring down at his pale, work-roughened palm, fighting the urge to kiss it. “You know, I… I really…” Love you. You are like no-one I’ve ever met, and I really fucking love you.

  The weight of the realisation cracked her ribcage open. She couldn’t deny it now—no matter how much she wanted to. Her heart was painfully, wonderfully vulnerable, officially free to fly off and hurt itself again. But maybe, if she didn’t react, the poor thing wouldn’t notice that it belonged to him. Maybe it would stay safe and sound and oblivious. That would probably be for the best, because she loved him so completely that it felt dangerous, so wildly that the feeling overflowed like a river after a storm. Her banks had broken. The flood would bring society to a halt and damage lots of people’s carpets. There would be newspaper headlines.

  Zach squeezed her hand. “Rae?”

  She realised that she’d practically frozen on the spot. Shit. “Sorry. Just… thought of something.”

  He arched a brow. “You need to write it down?”

  He thought she meant a story idea. “No,” she said. “I’ll remember it.” For the rest of my fucking life. “Listen, Zach. You should know…” She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. For the first time in a long time, she was desperate to say something sweet to a man, something gentle and loving and open, even if the idea terrified her. Zach deserved to hear how truly wonderful he was. To know that someone adored him, and always would. Even if she couldn’t say the words outright.

  “I see how you deeply care for people,” she began, already feeling ridiculous. “I know how huge your heart is. I feel it. You show me—you show everyone—with everything you do. Some people don’t appreciate you, some people leave you behind, but that’s because life is shitty sometimes. Not because you aren’t worth it. You’re worth…” She forced herself to meet Zach’s eyes and was surprised by what she found there: pure vulnerability, painted in burning blue. Somehow, that gave her the courage to continue. “You’re worth everything. Please don’t forget it.”

  He tried to flash his usual smile, but it was a faint imitation of the real thing. “How could I, with you around to remind me?”

  “I think I’ll make that my job from now on. Reminding you.” She should be panicking at her own foolish honesty, worrying that he might read love between the lines of her speech. But how could she, when, for once, Zach was the one feeling exposed? The one who needed her to be brave, who needed her to take the leap? His cheeks were flushed, his voice rough, his gaze flitting away from hers almost shyly. She caught his hand and squeezed. He squeezed right back, and when their eyes met, something precious passed between them.

  Then everything about him shifted until he was carefree and playful again.

  “Alright,” he said firmly. “Secrets. Your turn. You know how you’re a writer, so you have mystical powers and shit? Do you ever write yourself the perfect wanking material?”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. He asked so seriously, with just the barest hint of that dirty, flirty confidence that called to something reckless in her blood. If this was who he wanted to be right now, she’d let him—but this wouldn’t be the last time they discussed his past, or his pain. She’d make sure of that.

  She leaned in and whispered, “Are you seriously asking me if I write my own smut?”

 
; “Yep.” He was wearing his most self-satisfied smile, one that said he thought he’d left her speechless.

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Yes, I do. Sherlock and Watson fanfic, specifically.”

  With every word, his jaw dropped further. “For real?”

  “For real,” she said pertly.

  He looked like he was reconsidering everything he knew about reality. She barely stopped herself from giggling at the expression on his face. Then, after a deliciously long pause, he managed to ask, “Which Sherlock?”

  She gave a one-shouldered shrug, feeling wonderfully mysterious. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “Uh, yes, I really fucking would.”

  “Tough. That was a secret. It’s your turn.”

  He arched one wicked brow, and the action tugged at something low in her belly. “If my secret’s good enough, will you show me your fanfic?”

  Absolutely not. “Maybe,” she lied with unrepentant glee. “If you really blow me away.”

  “Okay,” he grinned. That grin was dangerous. She was already bracing herself for something pants-meltingly outrageous when he leaned in and whispered, “Remember that piercing I mentioned?”

  “Oh, God. Is this the kind of thing you should tell me in public?”

  “I don’t know.” His gaze heated. “Can you handle it?”

  She really wasn’t sure. “This is a sex thing, isn’t it?”

  “Well, I don’t have many secrets, Rae.” He leaned back on his bar stool, the action bringing one of his legs higher between hers. Her pussy tightened reflexively. One measly orgasm with him, and she’d developed some kind of Pavlovian response. “If you want my confessions,” he told her, his voice rich with a hot, liquid promise, “be ready for sex, sex, and more sex.”

  She snorted, trying not to seem as overheated and fidgety as she felt. Her heart pounded so violently, she was surprised he couldn’t see it through her T-shirt. With an impressively convincing laugh, she said blithely, “Stop. You’re awful.”

  He smiled, but his eyes were intense. “What’s awful is sitting here in public, remembering the little kitten growl you make when you come.”

  Her eyes widened even as something inside her clenched. “Be quiet,” she hissed, her eyes darting around the bar.

  “Why? I wish I was fucking you half as good as everyone here thinks I am.”

  Heat suffused her face. And… other places. Had she thought she couldn’t do this anymore? That she couldn’t handle his touch? She must’ve forgotten how desperately she wanted it. This might ruin her, in the end, but she couldn’t keep her hands off her fake boyfriend.

  He caught her stool and dragged her impossibly closer. His hand slid up her thigh until his thumb pressed against the tight apex of her jeans, pushing the seam hard against her clit. “You want to know a really big secret?” he asked. “I’m dying to see you come again. And once won’t be enough.”

  There was something about him—the fervency in his eyes, in his voice—that sent a thrill of hope and terror up her spine. Because that didn’t sound fake, and it didn’t sound like a favour. Rae found herself wondering: if Zach’s attraction was tied up in their emotional bond, what did it mean that he wanted her so badly? Could this look, this touch, so painfully intense, really come from friendship?

  She should ask him. And yet, she didn’t. Instead, she rocked her hips imperceptibly forward, biting her lip as the pressure against her clit increased. “Okay,” she breathed.

  “Good. Now, finish your wine,” he said quietly, “or, better yet, leave it here and come upstairs so I can make you scream.”

  Why, exactly, do you want to? She swallowed down a difficult question and a decadent moan. “You know, you can be kind of bossy.”

  Those midnight lashes fluttered as his gaze dropped to his hand, still pressed between her thighs. “Good thing you like it, or we might have a problem.” His eyes flew back to hers. “Do we have a problem?”

  So, so many. But her control was just a memory now. She didn’t have it in her to deny herself again. “No problems here,” she lied. “Unless you count the fact that you’re not inside me already.”

  With a scrape of barstools against the floor, he was standing, dragging her up beside him. His hands gripped her hips with a possessiveness that thrilled her. He murmured in her ear, “You good?”

  “I’m good.” Her heart was going haywire for reasons other than the usual.

  “Then let’s solve that problem.”

  Chapter 12

  Zach’s plan was simple: he’d leave Rae at the elevator, sprint to the nearest chemist for a lifetime’s supply of condoms, then follow her upstairs and fuck her until she couldn’t live without it. Or at least until she was happy again.

  He had the weirdest feeling that her sadness tonight had something to do with… him. Them. The boundaries they’d both agreed to, the ones that felt like chains weighing him down. Maybe it was arrogance, maybe it was wishful thinking, but he swore she struggled under that weight too. The connection between them was on fire, and the scorch marks on his heart belonged to her. He hoped she knew it.

  But she was hesitant, and he understood why. He’d already suspected that most of the people Rae loved had only ever hurt her in return. Now, after their conversation at the bar, he finally grasped the way to her heart: he needed to earn her trust before he could take anything else. Needed to show her, bit by bit, that he would never give her a reason to regret him. Thankfully, he’d already started doing that. And, since he planned to continue by treating her just right in the bedroom, he dragged her through the hotel foyer like the building was on fire.

  “Should I be worried?” she asked dryly. “Like, when we get to our room, are you going to rip my clothes to shreds in a fit of manly passion? Because I really like this T-shirt.”

  “If you like the T-shirt,” he muttered, “I’ll take that off the old-fashioned way.”

  “So, you are going to rip my clothes off,” she announced, triumphant.

  “If you don’t take them off fast enough.” Speaking of fast enough, had everyone in this hotel conspired to get in his fucking way tonight?

  “I want to think you’re teasing, but you have a face like thunder. You look so furious,” she whispered, “people are going to think we’re running off to argue.”

  “Who the fuck runs off to argue?” He parted a group of boring men in boring suits with nothing but a glare and yanked her through the gap.

  “I never argue in public,” she said primly.

  “We’ll argue in public at some point.” Maybe that gave too much away. Maybe it revealed how badly he wanted to make this weekend’s relationship a reality. Oh fucking well.

  She must have assumed he was talking in terms of their friendship, because she replied easily enough. “We will not argue in public,” she insisted as they reached the elevators. “I refuse.”

  He stabbed the up button and turned, pulling her close. Her hands slid over his shoulders, her breasts were pressed against his chest, and her pretty, startled face was close enough to kiss. “We’re arguing in public right now,” he told her softly.

  Her cheeks darkened. “We are not. This isn’t arguing.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  He arched a brow. “Is this arguing?”

  “You are honestly the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

  His lips curled into a satisfied smile. “Good. That means you’ll never forget me.”

  “Zach,” she murmured. “You are not the sort of man I could forget.” She laced her fingers in his hair and tugged him closer, toward her mouth—

  The elevator dinged. She hesitated, shot him a faintly embarrassed smile, and pulled away. He let her go with a barely hidden groan of frustration, his eyes sliding shut for a minute, his jaw tight as he regained control. When he opened his eyes again, he expected to find Rae’s mocking, whiskey gaze on him, gloating over the way she’d ruined the line of his jeans.

>   But she wasn’t teasing him. She wasn’t watching him at all. She was staring at the man standing in the elevator as if she’d seen a ghost, and he was staring right back. The guy was tall and lean, with bold, handsome features, his face all shadow and light. He had thick, greying brown hair, silver glasses on his sharp nose, and slack-jawed astonishment written all over his face. His gaze flew from Rae to Zach and back again, narrow and calculating.

  His identity should’ve been obvious, but it still came as a surprise when Rae set her shoulders and said with careful calm, “Hi, Kevin.”

  So much for disappearing to get condoms. Zach wasn’t fucking moving from this spot.

  Kevin stepped forward, then hesitated, running his tongue over his teeth. “Baby.”

  Zach stiffened. But Rae gave a tight smile and breezed past it. “How’s Billie? I saw your kid last night.”

  That was when Zach noticed the blue, starry bag slung over Kevin’s shoulder, the kind parents used to cart around the 10,000 things babies needed. He saw mums in Ravenswood with those bags all the time, walking together with their pushchairs or going to tummy class or whatever the fuck it was called.

  Now Kevin patted the bag with a self-conscious smile and said, “Jason. He’s growing so fast.”

  Zach was dying to point out that no baby should grow fast enough to be over two years old, eighteen months after a divorce, but he didn’t think Rae would appreciate that.

  “He’s a handsome boy,” she said politely, but Zach knew she was lying, because all kids looked like walnuts or dried-out marshmallows until they hit 5 and got real people faces. In fact, he and Rae had discussed that phenomenon at length over breakfast. He found her hand and squeezed. As always, she knew exactly what he was thinking; she shot him a desperate, wide-eyed look that seemed to say, Please don’t make me laugh right now.

  He bit his lip.

  “This is Zach, by the way,” she said, bumping her shoulder into his—like Kevin might have missed a glowering, 6 foot 2 inches of human being.

  “Hi,” Kevin nodded, his eyes darting to their joined hands.